Thrifted J Crew blazer; thrifted J Crew button down; beat up thrifted Seven For All Mankind jeans; Gap belt (clearance); Nine West pumps; estate sale clutch; Forever 21 rhinestone collar necklace
The other day, while embarking on a laborious mission to clean out my closet, I stumbled upon a photograph of myself at six years old. I am costumed in a stiff mint green tutu and shimmering leotard, rosy cheeked and sweaty, grinning maniacally at the camera. Rows of silver sequins and rhinestones dance around my waist. This photo is all that remains of my brief, yet illustrious career as a childhood tap student. Lacking both talent and equilibrium, I was the type of dancer who careened into walls and refused to practice and preferred to hide in the back of the class, chewing on my hair. I confess that my only impetus for sticking with those long, arduous classes was the opportunity to wear that recital costume. Silver and rhinestones were, and continue to be, hard to resist.
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